


Lover, Fighter

by glaivenoct



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cage Fighters, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Rivals to Lovers, Tagging as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaivenoct/pseuds/glaivenoct
Summary: He never meant to make a habit out of participating in these underground cage fights, but he's held the title of reigning champion for months now. No way is he going to let some scrappy (attractive) newbie take that from him.Nyx and Noctis meet their match in each other, and maybe fall a little in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *whispers* i didn't intend for this first chapter to exceed 3K but woops here we are

_“Use your brain, Nyx, not your fists.”_

Nyx was thirteen when his mother sternly scolded him with those words. He recalls sitting atop a kitchen stool that day, wincing while she dabbed disinfectant at a cut above his black eye. He recalls his raging teenage hormones telling him that she had no idea what she was talking about. She didn’t understand why he did what he had to do, and she never would.

He regretted those thoughts a second later once he noticed the exasperated disappointment in her eyes.

His mother had no qualms about his scuffles if, and only if, Nyx acted in self-defense. Instigating them was always another story. Instigating was unacceptable because _“You know better,”_ and _“I’m not raising a violent jerk.”_ But Nyx had a sharp tongue and a knack for trouble in his early teens. Instigating was something he struggled with for years. Too many bloody lips and lectures later did he learn to force his brain to catch up with his mouth and fists.

He owed his mother a little peace of mind after everything she’d done for him and Selena, after all.

Odd time for that subject to pop back into his head, especially as he sends the man across from him tumbling backwards with a fist.

The chaotic cheers beyond caged, wire walls heighten the adrenaline seeping into Nyx’s very bones. It’s his fourth fight of the night, and tonight he uses his brain and fists in unison. Though, the approval of the crowd isn’t quite enough to mask the sudden pang of guilt in his chest.

The first time Nyx ever stepped into this underground ring, the cheers made him uneasy. He couldn’t stop thinking about how disappointed his mother would be. About how much it’d hurt her heart to see him get beat up. It wouldn’t matter whether he won most fights or not. She’d hate it no matter what.

And the fact that Nyx can feel his heart pounding as the referee approaches his half-conscious opponent – the fact that he so eagerly anticipates that ten second mark to pass, hoping in some distant corner of his mind that his opponent will be unable to get back up…

This isn’t who his mother raised him to be. This is dangerous. _Illegal._ He shouldn’t be doing this.

To be fair, he never _meant_ to make a habit out of this. He never did it out of some twisted need to prove himself or vent his inner demons. It’s only ever been about the money. Not for him, though. This is for his family. The hero of a woman who deserved more than Nyx could ever give back, and his bright little sister who deserved every opportunity to follow her dreams.

He knows his mother wouldn’t stand for that explanation, but it never stops him from stepping into this dingy cage. Most nights he’s able to ignore it. It got easier with each fight, but there’s something strange in the air tonight. It almost feels like something’s trying to get under his skin, warn him to take a step back and acknowledge his recklessness.

But then the referee’s grabbing Nyx’s wrist to raise it and signify his fourth hard-earned victory of the night. Praise fills the arena and purges all his doubts away, saving them for the afterhours when he takes stock of his bruises. Nyx lets his lips curve up into a cocky smirk as the referee finishes announcing the victory into the microphone. Someone steps into the cage to help his half-conscious opponent up and away, and the ref releases his wrist. Nyx wipes the sweat from his brow while the man pats his shoulder.

“Hey, watcha say to a fifth fight tonight?”

Nyx scoffs at the suggestion. “You gotta be kidding me.” He was never even supposed to do four tonight, but he’s been here long enough to not be _too surprised_. This place had little rules or structure to begin with.

“Boss swears it’s the last of the night. The best for last, too. Should be a breeze for ya.”

Nyx’s brow rises in interest. He eyes the earpiece the man’s boss is probably feeding him the information through. “A breeze?”

“Got a newbie that’s been bringing in good business lately. He fought five in a row the other night, came to us and said he wanted a challenge. Boss says there’s no better challenge than sticking him up against our current reigning champ.”

“And what exactly about a guy that isn’t satisfied after five fights is a breeze?”

The man smirks. “He’s a lightweight. Probably doesn’t stand much of a chance against you.”

Ah, of course. Little rules, little structure. The place never cared much for fairness either. Nyx would prefer _not_ to be a newcomer’s hard-learned lesson – but it’s a pretty reckless move on their part in the first place. As if he’s one to talk about reckless.

“It’s easy money, Ulric. The crowd’ll get a good kick out of it and more than half of them will be betting on you. What d’ya say?”

 _Easy money. A breeze._ What could the harm be? He might not even need to be _too_ harsh to win against a newbie.

“Fine,” he agrees and begins tightening the straps on his fingerless gloves. He rolls his shoulders and points at the man. “No more after this one. I mean it.”

The man gives him a half sincere thumbs up, muttering “Bring him down,” into the microphone attached to the earpiece. He steps into the middle of the crowd with his handheld microphone to address the crowd.

“We’ve got one final match to round out the night, folks!” The crowd responds with cheer of approval. “Some of you may remember this young man from the other night. Hard not to when he maintained a five-round win streak.”

It’s difficult to see through the lights blaring above him, but when he squints his eyes, Nyx sees someone escorting a hooded figure to the cage. The increasing noise from the crowd confirms it, leading the ref to speak a little louder into his microphone.

“We’ve since dubbed him _The Prince_ since he practically _demanded_ we give him, and I quote, a _real_ challenge.”

 _Prince, huh?_ Nyx notices the crowd shifting into a chorus of mixed responses at that – confusion, laughter, mockery. He raises a brow at it, watching intently when the wire door is pulled open. His new opponent steps inside, clad in black and grey. Nyx tilts his head a little. The newbie’s eyes hide beneath the shadows of his hooded coat. His hands are gloved, his grey pants are baggy and end slightly past the knee, revealing little to nothing but pale calves. His feet are almost bare, save for the protective wraps around his ankles and soles.

In all Nyx’s time fighting here, he’s never seen anyone so covered up before. Never once considered an opponent enigmatic, either, but this guy… Nyx swallows and shoves the train of thought aside. It’s not important. What _is_ important is the fact that Nyx knows he can haul this guy over his shoulder and barely break a sweat. Beneath the coat he notices a slender build that easily justifies the ref’s claim earlier of “lightweight”.

Then the newbie reaches for his hood, freezing Nyx in his place and quelling the rumbles of the crowd once he pulls it back. Soft, young features come into light. They’re the kind Nyx might imagine capturing hearts at college parties or breaking them left and right at night clubs. Deep blue eyes like a stormy night sky, framed by inky tresses, shine with ambition as he chucks off his coat.

Yup, still a lightweight. While Nyx isn’t the _most_ unfair matchup for him… he’s still pretty unfair. Nyx wonders how much of a kick the crowd could get out of this.

“Go home, pretty boy!” One spectator bellows.

“He’s in over his head!”

“Kick his ass!”

That seems to answer the question, but Nyx is still skeptical. Meanwhile, the newbie’s eyes narrow and scan the crowd from right to left. He flexes his fingers and lets them curl into fists so tight that they begin shaking.

Nyx’s fought opponents younger than him before. He fought them without a problem. There’s something about this one Nyx can’t put his finger on, though. What the hell was this kid thinking? A face like that (definitely pretty as that one spectator mentioned) shouldn’t be here risking blood and bruises on a regular basis. He looks like he could do anything he wanted to; have the world in the palm of his hands and be extraordinary. Yet he’s here, putting his time and effort into something as unsafe and reckless as this.

Perhaps that sentiment’s exactly what Nyx’s loved ones would try getting through his thick skull.

“As his highness commands,” the referee gestures proudly back to Nyx. “Our reigning champion.”

“ _He-ro_ , _He-ro_ , _He-ro_ ,” Nyx bites back a small grin. He’s had the moniker for months now and he’s still not sure where it came from, but it stuck and never failed to give him a little rush. The chant gets those stunning blue eyes across the way to lock onto him. Nyx straightens himself, watching the wandering attention. The kid’s sizing him up, he realizes. He’s looking at his scars, too. The spidering one on Nyx’s shoulder that his sweaty grey tank fails to cover.

The look on that face is somewhat curious, but otherwise unfazed. To his leisure, he approaches to meet Nyx in the center.

Nyx wonders if there’s any unease behind that look of apathy.

“Gentlemen,” the ref says once they’re face to face. Nyx feels an unwavering gaze on him even as he turns his attention to the man. “You both know how this goes. Fight’s not over till someone taps out or can’t get back up.”

 _Tap out,_ Nyx hopes in his head while they both nod. He chances a glance and finds the kid still staring. He hopes he isn’t swallowing visibly. _For Shiva-sake, please just tap out._

Intrigued as he may be for this fight, he refuses to beat on this kid till he can’t get back up. That’s not who his mother raised him to be, after all.

“May the best fighter win.”

The deafening blare of a horn sounds from somewhere above them as the referee heads for the door. The newbie falls into a defensive stance.

“ _Show that kid who’s boss_!” Someone yells, getting him to roll his eyes.

“Tough crowd,” Nyx offers, genuinely sympathizing. He gets a lazy shrug in response, so he tries again. “They didn’t tell you who they were putting you up against tonight, did they?”

“I asked for a challenge and I got one.” His tone comes out hard along with his features. “I’m not complaining.”

Nyx grins and raises his fists. “Fearless little thing, aren’t you?”

“Don’t call me little.”

The corner of his lip twitches at that. He can’t make out anything beyond the defiance in those eyes. No doubt, fear or regret. Only confidence and spunk. More than Nyx’s seen in a long time. He likes that. “Forgive me, your highness.” He chuckles. “Would you prefer the term spitfire?”

“I’d prefer you _shut up_.”

Nyx sees him bracing to strike from a mile away and moves aside in time to avoid the first punch. The second and third come faster than he anticipates, but he still manages to raise an arm in time to block. Nyx hops a step back and whistles while the crowd screams at him to make a move.

“Word to the wise, Prince,” he circles around him in a manner one might consider predatory or arrogant, “this isn’t the place you want to bite off more than you can chew. It’s ruthless. They don’t care about you here. They care about the money. They’ll stick you up against a guy twice my size if they think the crowd will get a kick out of it.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Would you have really asked for a “real challenge” if you did?”

The prince gives him a wry smirk, jaw clenching visibly. His answer comes in the form of a guttural cry as he charges toward Nyx. Nyx’s eyes widen, and before he can dive off to the side, he’s rammed against the wire, gasp turning into a groan. Another fist comes his way, but he catches it. One swift yank and Nyx switches their positions. He holds a captive wrist into the small of the prince’s back, the other to the wire of the cage.

The prince grunts and struggles in his hold. Meanwhile, the crowd roars. Some rise from their seats and pump their fists in the air. Nyx can’t help but smile at the support.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the prince hisses at him. He attempts shoving back against Nyx’s chest, but Nyx only presses him harder into the wire. He lets out a frustrated, pained noise. “You’re thinking everything they are, that I’m in over my head. I’m an _easy fight_ because I don’t look like much.”

Nyx wonders how often the kid’s faced that kind of ridicule before. Or if anyone else he’s fought took him seriously. The thought brings him back to his guilt. Somewhere in the back of his head he thinks of his mother shaking her head at him. Or Selena telling him he should be ashamed of himself, reminding him of how many times he told her bullies to pick on someone their own size.

But this isn’t a playground. Nyx isn’t a bully and this prince is anything but helpless.

“Word to the wise, Hero,” a mock, bitter tone tells him. “You don’t know me or what I’m capable of.”

Then, with little to no difficulty, a captive wrist wriggles from Nyx’s hold. An elbow strikes him in the face, followed by a brutal uppercut beneath his chin. Nyx staggers back with a curse. Not that he ever questioned the kid’s ability to throw a solid punch – but _shit_. He can already feel the swell and throb of a bruise on his jaw. He sorts himself out enough to stand straight again, but a kick to his gut has him falling flat on his rear. He skids across the ring and ends up on his side, circling an arm protectively around himself.

Nyx hears a collective gasp from the crowd, then several yelling at him to get back up. He winces and begins pushing himself up. When he’s halfway there, hands fist into his tank and pull him till he’s facing the prince.

“Go ahead,” the prince cocks his brows, lips curving into a smug smile that makes Nyx’s chest feel funny. “Show me who’s boss – _if you can_.”

Nyx isn’t sure if the heat radiating between them is from their proximity or the fire in those eyes. It’s sends a shudder down his spine and makes his heart pump faster.

Nyx sees it now. A relentless desire to prove oneself to those that dare to question and judge. A desire for validation. A desire to be _more_ than a pretty boy. Nyx felt it like an avalanche in one of those hits. The prince truly is more than what he appears, and he can only scoff at what the referee said to him earlier. _A breeze. Ha!_

It’s fine, though. It doesn’t change much besides Nyx’s victory being more satisfying tonight. Nyx never came here to lose no matter how many times his mother’s surmised disapproval haunted him. So he shoves the prince away hard enough to make him stumble, and flashes his own crooked smile.

“Guess they saved the best fight for last after all.”

“You have no idea.” He rolls his shoulders and brings his fists back up in defense.

And Nyx lunges at him with renewed vigor, throwing fist after fist. He learns quick that what the prince might lack in size, he makes up for in speed as he expertly blocks the first few. He ducks beneath the third and sneaks behind him. Before Nyx can turn to meet him, a kick to his back sends him faltering onto one knee. He throws a kick of his own, blind and in the general vicinity of the footsteps he heard behind him.

He looks over his shoulder in time to see the prince skipping back a step to avoid it. Nyx rushes back onto his feet and takes his opening.

The prince’s head snaps fast to the right upon impact with Nyx’s fist, and the crowd goes particularly wild over it. He staggers back a couple steps and works his jaw. It’s not till he looks back up at him that Nyx realizes there’s blood trickling onto his gloved fingers. Nyx pauses in the midst of bracing for another attack when he sees him wiping at the cut on his lower lip.

A face like that _shouldn’t_ be here risking blood and bruises –

“ _Kick his ass_!”

The prince spits red onto the dirty floor beneath them. He works his jaw one more time and meets Nyx’s eyes. His dark hair creates shadows around his own, highlighting their alluring hue as they pierce daggers into him. All Nyx can do is ask himself how the hell fury can look _so good_ on –

“Is that all you got?” The way he asks it is so _smug_ and _goading_. Nyx swears he can feel something trying to inch beneath his skin. He blinks at the question as he processes it and his previous train of thought is switched out for pure determination.

He shouldn’t be questioning his motives. Shouldn’t feel sorry for a damn thing because the prince is _not_ fragile. Not some poor misguided soul that needed someone to show him the light. A conscious decision was made here to challenge himself and accept the consequences should there be any. How can Nyx hold back on that when the kid’s asking for it?

And how could he back down from an attitude so fierce?

Nyx laughs to himself before hurling forward to reengage in an angry dance around the ring. They go on for what seems to be ages, trading punches on and off. The prince moves as agile as the coeurls of Nyx’s homeland, prancing around him with dangerous intent, like he’s waiting for just the right moment to charge himself up and attack with heart-stopping electricity. Nyx doesn’t let it faze him. He persists until he manages to back him into a corner.

And when he has just the right opening, Nyx kicks him hard into the wire. The prince grunts, but hardly lets it stagger him. He drops to the floor and slides under Nyx’s parted legs. Nyx’s eyes widen, and he prepares to whirl around and block whatever hit may be thrown at him next.

Instead there’s a weight on his back, legs crossing over his thighs, an arm pressing against his throat. Nyx grips it and sucks in a breath of air, using his other hand to frantically reach behind and deter him. The pressure against his throat increases. His panic for breath wavers his focus, but he has just enough to turn around and ram them both against the cage.

The prince maintains his hold the first time, and then the second, and then the third. A frustrated growl rumbles low in Nyx’s throat.

He drops to his knees, reaches behind him with both hands and hauls the prince over his head as he rocks forward. He hears a breathy _oof_ that soon turns into a groan. Nyx rushes to crawl over his opponent. Gloved hands reach to grab his tank, but Nyx grabs them first and pins them to the floor.

“A five-round win streak in one night isn’t a small victory for a newbie like you, you know. How much more do you have to prove yourself before you’re satisfied?”

The prince grits his teeth and hisses as he bucks under him. His face flushes when he tries pulling his wrists from Nyx’s bruising hold. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead and cheeks. He’s panting, and his lower lip is still bleeding. A single trickle of blood runs down his chin, not far from the tender red spot on his lower jaw. His brows knit together. He lets out a frustrated cry, more than reminiscent of a coeurl before it’s electric attack, and pulls his head and shoulders up from the floor. Nyx forces him back down harsher than he intends.

“Tap out.” He gives those wrists a warning squeeze. “I don’t want to fight till someone can’t get back up.”

The prince gives him an incredulous look. “Fuck you.”

Legs wrap around his waist and draw their bodies dangerously close. Waist to waist, hips to hips. Nyx freezes and fights the heat threatening to spread across his cheeks. Sure, he’s gotten up close and personal with people in the ring a few times but… this? This… this is something.

Something that brings back that funny feeling in his chest. Maybe adds a little tingle in the pit of his belly. _Focus, Nyx! Focus!_

“Easy, little prince,” Nyx smirks. “The least you can do is buy me a drink first.”

Drawing more attention to the situation is the exact opposite of getting him to focus, but alas, his mouth gets ahead of his brain. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

The prince rises off the floor enough to bring their faces inches apart. Nyx can see the electricity charging in those eyes, chilling him to his core.

“Consider this one on the house.” Legs tighten around his waist, and before his mind can wander off into suggestive territory, a generous glob of saliva is spat into his face.

The noise Nyx makes is somewhere between bewildered and disgusted. He flinches and instinctively reaches to wipe his face but registers too late that it’s a mistake. As soon as he loosens his grip on those wrists, the prince is already pulling himself free, curling fingers into a sweaty tank.

With a roar, raw and feral as any cornered coeurl, he rolls backwards and hurls Nyx along with him.

Just like that, Nyx is the one pinned the floor, panting and sweaty as he tries to comprehend what happened. The heat between them this time is insufferable, burning through every thread of coiled tension in the air.

“Okay…” he exhales, trying not to react to the way he swears those knees are squeezing his hips. “So you’re stronger than you look too. I’ll give you that.” He wedges a knee between them and kicks him away. He rises to his feet, distantly aware that the crowd’s split between cheering and yelling at him to get his shit together. “But it’s gonna take a lot more than that to take me out, little prince.”

“Do you give all your opponents stupid nicknames?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

The comment gets the prince to tense up, clench fists at his side and shoot him a resentful glare. Nyx smirks and cocks a brow at him – an action one might consider “poking the coeurl”, but he’s more than prepared once the prince darts towards him again.

Back into the fray they go, their angry dance turning into something more reminiscent of a game of cat and mouse. Despite the prince’s parallels to the predatory coeurl, they switch off between the role of mouse. Right when Nyx thinks he’s wearing the kid down, he’s evaded in swift blurs, agile hand springs, rolls and backflips. He even pulls off a noteworthy wall run that gives him the momentum to pull off a mid-air kick. That moves gives Nyx his own bloody lip to match the prince’s. All he can think is _Show-off_ , but really, he has no room to talk or complain.

His aches and bruises start catching up with him at the wrong time. It’s once he’s finally slipped back into the role of the cat, toying with his prey, making him think he’ll move one way when he intends to move the other. His muscles threaten to slow his movements as they scream and beg him to remember that none of his prior fights tonight were easy. He’s gotten a run for his money all night, but that’s part of the gig, isn’t it?

Nyx’s done back to back fights with opponents bigger than him before. All he needs to do is _dig deep_. If not for the extra money for his family, then for his pride. He knows deep down he became attached to holding the title of _Champion_ somewhere along the way. Attached to crushing the hopes and determination of those who wished to steal that title from him. Attached to the praise of a crowd.

He’s not going to lose all that to some small, hotheaded newbie.

So he barrels his shoulder into that slim torso, heaves the prince over it briefly before he slams him down to the floor.

He doesn’t expect a howl so pained and piercing to rip from the prince’s throat. Nyx feels his rush of adrenaline ceasing in its tracks, hears the crowd stifling their clamor, notices his opponent seized up beneath him. He stands to quickly take a step back.

Through grit teeth, the prince rolls onto his side and reaches around to knead at his lower back. His face is scrunched up in agony, though it’s not till he looks back at Nyx with furious tears clouding his eyes that he realizes…

He hurt him. He genuinely hurt him. Yeah, they’ve been hurting each other left and right, but this is different. This is a vulnerability. A weak, tender spot from a previous fight perhaps, and Nyx managed to manipulate it without even meaning to. In any other fight, it’s hia ticket to victory. The crowd starts up again, egging him on to finish the prince.

The sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowns them out. This _isn’t_ who his mother raised him to be. He even said this is the last thing he wanted to do, but…

_He made a choice to do this. He’s not fragile._

The prince starts pushing himself to his knees. He trembles as he does and is nowhere near as fast as before. Nyx steps forward before his heart can talk him out of it and presses the heel of his foot into the small of the prince’s back. He collapses immediately on a strangled cry and claws at the floor. Nyx proceeds to kneel, feeling like a complete piece of shit as he switches his heel with his knee. A frantic hand bats at him, but he catches it and pins it down.

“All you have to do is _tap out_ ,” he says firmly, pressing his knee down harder to reiterate. The prince writhes beneath him and muffles pitiful noises of distress into his arm. “You put up a good fight, but sometimes you have to know your limits. Especially here.”

The prince laughs weakly at that, lifting his head and turning it as much as he can to glance at Nyx from the corner of his eye. “And who the hell are you are to tell me what my limits are?”

Nyx leans down close to the prince’s ear, pressing his knee in even further. He’s trying _so hard_ to be the good guy. He’s never cared enough to do it in this ring. Ever. Every ounce of defiance spewed at him gets under his skin in a way Nyx didn’t think was possible. It makes him resent that stupid, pretty face that manages to be mesmerizing even when it’s twisted in spite.

“Let’s get real for a moment before I make you tap out, little prince. What exactly is a pretty thing like you doing in a ring like this?”

The question stills the prince into place. His fingers claw at the floor again until they slowly curl into his fist. Nyx tilts his head at him and feels shallows breaths picking up beneath him. He expects to be cursed at or for him to start bucking wildly beneath him.

The last thing he expects is for the prince to suddenly wrench his wrist free of his grip. Or to receive a sharp elbow to the ribs that has him almost choking on his own breath. Nyx doubles over, unable to pay attention to the slim body turning over. He’s nowhere near prepared for the next punch, either. It has him seeing stars and recoiling.

The prince, seemingly too angry to recall the vulnerable puddle he was mere seconds ago, crawls two steps away from Nyx and kicks him in the chest hard enough to put him on his back.

The ceiling’s spinning when Nyx lands, vision blurring at the corners for a moment. There’s weight on him again, straddling and grabbing him by the shirt. He blinks a few times in hopes to clear his vision. The crowd grows rowdy, shouting a mix of things Nyx doesn’t have enough focus to decipher.

Then that pretty, angry face is above him, lifting him off the floor by his shirt and bringing them close.

“Who’re you calling pretty?” The malice behind the question sends a chill down Nyx’s spine despite that hot breath on his face and the sweat burning between them.

He can’t be smart about it even if he wants to be. The prince doesn’t give him a chance. He gives him one last glare and a brutal shove back into the floor. The stars in Nyx’s vision double when his head meets the floor, but it’s not quite harsh enough to render him unconscious.

The weight lifts off him and immediately Nyx urges himself _Get up, get up, Get Up_. His body works against him, begging him to remain down and give up for the night. His pride’s nowhere close to being ready to do that, though. Easy money. That’s all this was supposed to be. Nyx knew his godsdamn limits. This kid isn’t one of them.

_Get up, get up, Get Up_

“I don’t believe it…” the voice belongs to the ref and it drives Nyx to at least roll onto his side. “I don’t believe it!”

Tap out or until someone can’t get back up. Those are the rules. All he needs to do is _dig deep damnit_.

The bruising on his ribs tells him _Not today_.

“Fuck,” he gasps. The mandatory ten seconds have passed by now. He remains down and looks to see the prince standing in the middle of the ring, facing the crowd boldly with his chest puffed out.

“I never thought I’d say it tonight, but…” The referee approaches the prince and grabs his wrist, raising it to signify victory. “It looks like someone’s finally managed to dethrone the Hero and reigning champion!”

 _No_. No, no, but the crowd’s jumping to their feet, some pumping their fists in the air wildly. It’s a chorus of cheers and boos as the ref leads the prince in a slow circle to face everyone. His arm is still raised, but his face in no-longer angry or defiant, only poise, if not a little ambiguous.

Their eyes meet one last time. A contrast of blues search one another’s. Nyx isn’t even sure what they mean to look for. What he is sure of is that the tension that once coiled in him is shifting into curiosity. All his questions resurface – who the hell is this kid, what the hell is he doing here? Why is he so eager to be reckless?

The prince raises his chin and let’s his attention drift back to the crowd, leaving Nyx defeated on the floor to come to one adamant decision.

He wants a rematch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I've had this idea sitting in my brain for months and I'm so happy I'm finally able to throw it out here. I have a vague idea of where I'm going with this and no idea of how long it'll be. So bear with me? One thing I can say is there really isn't meant to be any more detailed fight sequences after this (hence the minor violence tag, I just wanted to be safe). Fight sequences are hard af and I'm rusty on them(?) I just needed this to get these two to meet~
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts. Hope you enjoyed ^.^


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nyx pretends he's not sulking and gets a surprise call

_“I don’t know what to tell you, Ulric. You had a good run.”_

Nyx stares at the plate of skewers in front of him as if they were the referee themselves; testing his patience and making him fume beneath a calm façade. _You had a good run_. No, he had a _great_ run and there was no way in Ifrit’s sweet hell he was going to let this be the end. Not by the likes of a “prince”.

He wasted no time last night in flagging the referee down once he’d cleaned up enough. He would’ve preferred to find the prince, but the brat was nowhere to be found after Nyx resurfaced from his own shock.

 _“I want a rematch,”_ he’d said. It caused the ref to let out a hearty, wheezing, red faced laugh that made Nyx want to punch him.

_“You’re shittin’ me.”_

_“Look me in the eye and tell me if you think I am.”_

_“Listen, if you’re worried about the boss not wanting to bring you in for more fights after this, I can assure you that’s not the case.”_

_“That’s nice,”_ Nyx said dismissively. _“I still want a rematch.”_

Another laugh. _“What is this personal now or something? Thought you said you didn’t like to get personal here.”_

Nyx curls his fingers into his palms as he remembers that. He couldn’t say anything at the time because it was true. He said it before his first fight. He was never supposed to attach himself to anything in this ring. If it wasn’t the money, then it wasn’t important, but _that damn prince_ that won’t stop swirling around in his head… he’s _something_.

The attitude, the confidence, the strength and agility… all shrouded in the alluring mist of mystery – Nyx can’t seem to get enough of it.

He hates that. He hates that there’s more to this than taking back his title. It goes against everything he vowed before stepping into the ring just like the referee said.

Nyx pulls his phone from his pocket to check for any missed messages or calls. Nothing.

Once he’d convinced the ref he was serious about a rematch, he was given a promise. The prince (who had already collected his winnings and left for the night) would be contacted soon with the proposition, and as soon as they got an answer, Nyx would be contacted as well.

He glances at his phone again to “check the time”. Nothing.

 _Relax, it’s barely 1pm._ Maybe the prince hasn’t even been contacted yet. Maybe he has and just hasn’t seen the message yet. The prince must have a life, right? Work? School? Friends? A dating life? (There’s no way he doesn’t. Not with that face.)

Maybe he’s laughing at the proposition as Nyx sits here like a damn teenager waiting for a text back from their crush. Nyx is _not_ a teenager and _does not_ have a crush, so he turns his phone over to make the screen face down. He sighs and reaches for a skewer.

“Stop sulking.” Crowe says across from him.

She’s leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and eyes watching him like a hawk. One brow rises in speculation when he looks at her. He glances at Libertus seated next to him and is bombarded by a similar look. Nyx straightens in his own chair and bites a chunk of meat from his skewer. He pretends like he has no idea what she’s talking about.

“I’m not sulking.”

The other brow rises. She’s not buying it. He never really expected her to anyways. “The look on your face is the definition of sulking.”

“No it’s not.”

“You’re pouting at the least.”

“ _Fuck off_ , Crowe.”

Libertus shakes his head while Crowe smiles too smug for Nyx’s liking. “The one time I don’t tag along to look out for your dumb ass,” he grabs a small cup of sauce between them and pours a generous amount over the meat, “you get it handed to you by a skinny kid.”

Nyx rolls his eyes. For the sake of his sanity, this is the last thing he should spend his lunch break discussing, but who is he kidding? He’s hardly stopped thinking about the fight for more than a few seconds today. Drautos even noticed his absent-mindedness. He clapped him on the back once or twice to bring him back down to earth and ask if he was alright.

The answer’s obviously no. He was lucky enough to come from that fight concussion free, but he’s still achy and sore. He can’t exactly share all that with his boss, though. Nyx does wonder sometimes how the occasional cuts and bruises he’s failed to hide haven’t already tipped Drautos off. The man never asks about them directly or even seems to realize they’re there. If that’s some kind of act, Nyx doesn’t know if he’s grateful for it or if it makes him nervous.

“You’re not seriously going through with this rematch, are you?” Crowe asks, the disapproval already so clear in her voice. One slightly irritated look from him later and she’s huffing in defeat.

He only managed to keep the cage fights a secret from his friends for the first few months. It was easy to lie to the about the cuts and bruises he couldn’t hide. Crowe and Libertus had grown up with him. They knew his habits of getting into fights and trouble better than anyone, but when it happened one too many times, they grew suspicious.

His cover wasn’t blown till a fight made him call out of work for a couple days. Nyx never calls out of work. It was over the second his friends barged into his apartment and found him with bandaged ribs and a bag of ice pressed against his black eye.

 _“Are you outta your godsdamn mind?”_ They’d asked it wide eyed and unison. Nyx didn’t expect a better reaction than that, even when he explained his reasons.

Crowe called bullshit and spouted everything Nyx had already scolded himself with. What would his mother say? How would Selena feel? They wouldn’t want this kind of money from him in the first place. It’s dangerous. It’s illegal. He’s being a damn idiot.

She has no problem being vocal about it, but it never stops Nyx from doing it anyway. That’s why he never tries to stop her from scolding him, either. He gets it. Really, he does. He’d probably do the same if it were one of them, but he _needs_ to do this. No matter how much sense Crowe makes, how valid the concerns and warnings are.

Libertus understands that. Or, he at least understands that it’s the way Nyx perceives it. It’s why Libertus started tagging along to his fights in the first place. Never to encourage or enable him from the crowd. Only ever to look after him as he mentioned, because some fights are rougher than others. Most of the time, Nyx is grateful to have extra help (and the company – even if Libertus expressed his clear dislike of the whole thing) walking home.

“So what are you going to do if this kid kicks your ass again?” Crowe presses.

“He’s not going to kick my ass again.”

“If he did once he can do it again.”

“He won’t.”

“ _What if_.” She’s glaring at him now and he glares at her right back.

“ _He won’t_.”

Libertus whistles between them. “I knew you had an ego, Nyx, but damn. This kid musta bruised it up big time.”

Nyx tosses his half eaten skewer on his plate and slumps in his chair. He’s not mad at Crowe. This isn’t the first time their conversations have ended with them glaring at each other, but even in those moments he’s never truly angry. In retrospect it’s touching, because he knows it’s only out of love.

At the same time, he could say the same thing about the cage fights.

“This kid looks like he’s never seen a day of combat in his life.” Nyx crosses his arms, thinking back to that moment the prince pulled back his hood. “Half the crowd mocked him when they got a good look at his face!”

“You know what they say,” Libertus points at him with an empty skewer stick “looks can be deceiving. Didn’t you say he spit on you?”

Crowe almost chokes on her water, a snicker stopping short and turning into a snort. Nyx snaps his attention to her with another glare. She covers her mouth to muffle the rest of her amusement, passing it off as her wiping her mouth. “Sorry, I – _wow_. I didn’t hear that part. If I can’t convince your dumb ass to back out of this thing, then I at least need to see what this kid’s all about. _Shiva_. When is this thing?”

Nyx shrugs. “I’m still waiting to hear if he’s actually agreed to it.”

“Think there’s a chance he won’t?” Libertus asks.

“I don’t know…” Nyx’s been weighing that question in his head since last night. He wants to believe that fiery attitude will be more than enough to goad the prince into agreeing. The prince could see it the way Crowe did – that if he beat Nyx once he can beat him again. Easy money, so to speak.

But Nyx can also see him saying no out of spite, probably for all those “pretty” comments he seemed to despise. What was up with that anyway? Gods, if he’d just _agree already_ , well… well Nyx doesn’t know how fighting him all over again will answer that question. Or all the others; such as what the prince is doing there in the first place and why.

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. He’ll only get there if the rematch happens.

“If he does agree,” Crowe says it without looking at him, absently twirling a skewer in a sauce cup, “I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but…”

But participating in underground cage fights in the first place is already stupid.

“I know,” he says so she doesn’t have to explain it. He knows she cares. She wouldn’t give him constant shit if she didn’t.

His phone suddenly buzzes against the table top and makes his heart dip into his stomach. He turns it over, disappointment turning into pleasant surprise once he recognizes the name “Sellie” on his screen. Finally, something to take his mind off this nonsense. Libertus and Crowe take it as their cue to leave, gathering their plates and empty sauce cups.

“See you back out there,” Libertus pats his shoulder as he and Crowe head for the door, dumping their trash along the way.

Nyx nods and gives them an acknowledging hum before he answers the call. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Jeez _Dad_ , my class go canceled. Get off my back.”

Nyx chuckles and props a foot up on the empty chair next to him. “What’s up, dork?”

“Just checking in. Ma called me earlier to ask about you. She said you didn’t call this week.”

“Oh shit…” Right. He was supposed to call last night when he got home. Last night he didn’t expect an extra fight, let alone to _lose_ the extra fight. Had the prince really clogged up his brain so much that he forgot to call his mother?

He calls her at least once a week, and whenever she leaves him voicemails when he can’t answer at work. Selena will call him every other week or so, and they’ll text in between. It’s a habit he picked up since he left Galahd. One that, for the most part, Nyx makes sure he’s always on top of. He refuses to allow any more distance between his family than need be. They were his foundation – the only reason he was able to piece himself back together when his father passed away.

Sometimes he still feels guilty for leaving home in the first place. He originally left to chase the vast opportunities Insomnia had to offer. A bar. For years, he and Libertus talked about starting up their own bar. Though, between sustaining themselves and Nyx’s fighting, things have come to a bit of a standstill on that dream. Maybe that wouldn’t be the case if he stopped putting so much effort into the fighting, but he doesn’t want to risk being unable to provide. That’s the least he can do for his family after leaving them, isn’t it?

Remembering to actually call them probably comes right after that.

“You never forget to call Ma,” Selena says concerned. “They overworking you over there, big brother?”

“Bound to happen between two jobs…” And he hopes she doesn’t ask about his “second job”. He made one up to explain where the extra money comes from – something about a personal bodyguard for one of Insomnia’s higher up figures. He tries to rarely bring it up. “I’ll call Ma tonight, though. I’m off in a few more hours.”

“Bodyguard gig or The Glaive?”

“The Glaive,” he answers quickly, brain scrambling for a way to change the subject. “I’m on lunch but, um, what’s going on with you? How’s school?”

“Good!” Nyx’s racing heart settles at that. The response is so genuine that he can’t not smile at it. “I’m so glad I decided to take photography this semester. I have a friend who’s in one of the more advanced classes, he’s been _such_ a big help! I was thinking of sending you and Ma some pictures from my assignments soon too! That way you guys can see how beautiful Altissia and the campus really is…”

There’s an inflection in her voice there, a dreamy longing tone that makes Nyx’s smile curve further till it hurts. “That’s great to hear. I’d like that, and I know Ma will too.”

“You have to tell me your honest opinion of the pictures, though! I’m new to this and _completely_ open to constructive criticism.”

“Okay,” Nyx chuckles again. “I’m sure the pictures are great, Sellie.”

“Noo! None of that!” Nyx wishes she were here to see the judgmental rise of his brows. “You haven’t even seen the pictures yet! You can’t say it’s great just because I’m your little sister!”

“ _I’m saying_ that I know what my little sister is capable of and it’s why I believe the pictures she sends will be pleasant to look at.”

“Yeah, but if they’re not you can tell me.”

“Sellie?”

“It won’t hurt my feelings!”

“Sellie.”

“I’m serious. My self-esteem is impenetrable.”

“ _Sellie_.”

“What?”

Nyx bites down on his laugh this time and shakes his head. “Have you been getting feedback on your pictures? Teachers? Other students? Your photography friend?”

“…Yeah.”

“And what have they been saying?”

“…That I’m off to a good start.”

Now he wishes she could see his proud, I-told-you-so smirk. “My point stands.”

Selena sighs. “You really believe in me, don’t ya?”

“Of course I do, dork.”

It’s hard not to when he’s watched her art evolve over the years; from finger paintings, pencil and pen sketches, acrylic and oil canvases and watercolor masterpieces. Selena dreamed of broadening her artistic horizons at Altissia’s top art school since she entered high school. From the beginning, Nyx had no doubts that she was more than capable of getting in when the time would come.

She’s always been the best and brightest of the Ulric family after all. Where their mother was his hero, Selena was his hope. Nyx knows she can reach for the very stars and end up far beyond them. Far enough that maybe even their father would see and be proud. At this point in his life, Nyx doesn’t think he’ll be able to do that. If he can’t, at least she can.

And it’s exactly why he steps into damned cage every time. As much as he believes in her, tuition for higher education in Altissia is _no joke_.

Their family was never rich. They never realized it as kids, but their mother often struggled to make ends meet. They always had what they needed, though. Nothing extravagant. Nothing extra, but just enough, because their mother always made it work. She always put them first.

Nyx decided long ago it’s his turn to do the same. To save Selena from the trouble of burdensome loans. To save her from burning out between the pressure of juggling schoolwork and a job. To give her everything she’s dreamed of because she’s never asked for anything more.

 She refused him at first, of course. She told him he was crazy and that he couldn’t afford to pay Altissia tuition on a damn bartender’s salary. Little did she know.

“You’re too good to me, big brother,” she says. It reminds him of what she said when she finally accepted his offer (and burst into tears soon after). She even promised that she was going to pay him back somehow once she was through with school, but Nyx doesn’t expect her to do that.

As long as Selena gets her opportunity to learn and grow as an artist, Nyx has no regrets about anything. Doesn’t want a damn thing back for it, either.

He just wants her to be happy.

“So, what’s going on with _you_ huh? Besides work?”

Nyx looks down into his lap. He chews on his lower lip before licking it. He _considers_ telling her about the mysterious, gorgeous prince that’s occupied his mind for most of the day. ( _“Met this guy. He’s gorgeous. No, seriously, drop dead gorgeous, but he decked my ass in an illegal cage match and I want to see- er, fight. I want to fight him again. Yeah.”_ )

Nope. That’s not wise even if he manages to fib on most of the details. He shrugs. “Not much. Trying to get by, y’know?”

“Yeah, you say that a lot,” even her small laugh sounds concerned. “Do you ever actually kick back and do something for yourself over there, Nyx?”

“Oh yeah. On my days off I lounge in my underwear with a pudding cup and marathon bad romcoms.”

“You must be getting hot dates left and right.”

Nyx snorts. He hasn’t gone a date since… gods, he can’t remember the last time he went on a date. Or the last time he thought about going on a date. For some reason he can’t stop thinking about the prince again. His face – a face that’s definitely getting hot dates left and right. Does he smile on those dates? Does he get flustered or bashful or flirty? He’s only ever seen that face scowl at him… it’s strange to think it’s capable of another emotion. A positive one at that.

 _Godsdamnit_ he’s not supposed to be thinking about that face when he’s talking to his little sister. Nyx throws his head back and scrubs a palm over his face.

“You know it. Nah, I go out with friends, Libertus and Crowe. Same ol’. I’m okay, Sellie. I really am.”

“Well, make sure you call Ma and tell her that. She worries about you having two jobs and all sometimes...” There’s an _I do too_ hanging off the brief silence. Nyx can feel it tugging at his heart and provoking another smile.

“Yeah, she worries about both of us. I’ll call her, I promise.” _Don’t worry about me._

“Good. I’ll let you go so you can finish lunch. Call or text you later? Oh, I’ll send those pictures soon too!”

“I’ll be ready to give you a full critique.”

She hums fondly. “Take care of yourself, Nyx. Love ya.”

“Right back atcha, dork.”

When the call ends, Nyx can only keep smiling for a few more seconds. Talking to his family never fails to brighten his mood, but it’s in the following moments that he’s unable to ignore one disheartening fact; he’s a liar. Something that, yet again, his mother didn’t raise him to be.

_But this is how it has to be._

Nyx leans forward in his chair and rests his chin in his palm. There’s still no messages waiting for him when he checks his phone again.

The fighting’s only ever been for his family. That’s all this potential rematch should be about, isn’t it? Not some ferocious, handsome prince whose first name he doesn’t even know. Besides, he didn’t just lose a title last night. He lost money that could’ve gone to Selena’s school supplies and books, or his mother’s bills. How had he not recognized that before?

_Stupid prince._

His lunch break is officially over when he checks his phone one last time. He’s kind of relieved for that, and telling himself that this time Drautos won’t need to bring him back down to earth. He’s got his priorities and that’s all he needs to focus on. He stands from his seat and gathers his half empty plate.

He’s a fool to convince himself that he won’t check his phone again for the rest of his shift.

He’s a fool to pretend like getting no response that night, even after he calls his mother, doesn’t bother him.

But then, another full day later, when he’s expecting the buzz in his pocket to be more pictures from Selena, it’s not.

_Saturday 7pm. You still in hero man?_

His heart nearly pumps out of his damn chest. He can see those spiteful blue eyes in his head again. He imagines that the next time he sees them they’ll be the same, if not brimming with more confidence. He wonders how people will react to the match this time. If he’ll be the one they mock instead.

Nyx takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this needs to be about the money and the title. Nothing more because the prince is his _rival_.

He _does_ have a frame of reference when it comes to how the prince fights. Speed and agility are his strengths, and his weakness is his back.

He double checks his schedule to confirm that, yes, he has that day and the following off from work. He goes back into his messages to respond.

 _I’m in_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone that might've expected this to be the rematch - I'm sorry!! I don't know if my brain has the capacity to do back to back fight sequences. I'm still debating how to go about the whole rematch scenario, honestly, but it's going to happen in some form I swear. I'm still figuring this thing out as I go lol.
> 
> For now, I hope this is an acceptable update~ I'm going to try to be better at updating in general, but it's difficult between a 9-6 (plus overtime) work week sometimes ^^; I'd love to hear your thoughts! A lovely week to all of you <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the cages he's The Prince. At home he's just Noct.

Noct’s more annoyed than he is surprised to wake up in pain. It’s his back of course. There’s sharp, aching spurts prodding at the small of it. He turns on his side with a grimace to relieve some of the pressure. It helps, but not enough for him to drift peacefully back to sleep. He sighs through his nose and groans into his pillow.

The dumb, smug face of his opponent from last night peers into his thoughts. This is all _his fault_ , the handsome asshole. _Hero_ , they called him. Please. Since when do heroes beat other people up?

The pain was much worse last night, yet his anger gave him enough willpower to ignore it and come through victorious. It was afterwards, when he stood with his fist raised in victory, Noctis was certain he would collapse at any moment.

Not once had his back acted up this way during a fight. Not once had being slammed into wires, poles and unsanitary floors caused such an episode.

Not once had he ever been so vulnerable in front of so many people.

He can’t recall the way he cried out, but he knows it was roaring enough to silence most of the crowd. It even stopped the esteemed hero in his tracks and Noctis can’t stand that fact. People can underestimate him all they want. They can take one look at him and think he’s weak.

They can never witness a true moment of weakness. Vulnerability surfacing from the cold, indestructible exterior of _The Prince_ is unacceptable.

He supposes his victory erases that, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that wants to go back and fix that moment. He’d punch that hero right in his face again too if only to sate the remnants of his spite.

The pain in his back now is tame compared to last night. That wouldn’t be the case if it weren’t for Gladio, ever at the ready to swoop in and nurse him back to normal.

“Noct?”

Speak of the infernian. Guess he didn’t imagine hearing the front door open earlier after all.

“M’up,” Noct mumbles at the half open doorway, voice raspy and still heavy with sleep. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m up.”

There’s rustling among Gladio’s steady footsteps. He pushes the door fully open, dressed in his favorite joggers and hoodie. Fresh from a run Noctis assumes, glancing at the plastic bag he holds at his side.

“Just as I thought,” he says, watching Noctis move slow to sit up. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Noct doesn’t have the energy to glare at him. He’s too busy wincing at the stiffness in his back.

“Didn’t expect you to actually be up. It’s not even noon yet.”

“What,” Noctis nods to the bag “you planning to surprise me with breakfast in bed one of these days, big guy?”

Gladio snorts. “You wish.”

“You didn’t have to come back to check up on me you know.”

“Don’t be stupid. How’s your back?”

“Hurts.” He reaches around to rub the afflicted area. “Feels really stiff too.”

“Figures.” Gladio tosses the bag into his lap. “I got you a couple heating pads that should help, but not before you do some stretching. C’mon,” he pats Noct’s shoulder. “Out of bed. Slouching like that isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Noct groans again and rubs at one eye with his palm. “Can I get some coffee first?”

“There’s a cup from that café down the street with your name on it.”

He blinks up at him, disbelieving as if he were in the presence of a god. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

“Sure you do.” He holds out a hand for Noct to take, grips it firmly and helps him stand. “Easy,” he says when Noct makes a discomforted noise. “Easy. You good?”

“Yeah… yeah, standing helps.”

 Gladio stays behind him as they head into the living room. There’s an exercise mat already rolled out on the floor, between the dining table and the couch. The cup of coffee Gladio promised sits on the kitchen counter, and his name really is on it.

Ever at the ready to nurse Noct back to normal.

For as much as they might tease each other, Noctis would be lost without Gladio sometimes. A lot more impulsive. Definitely lonelier. How he hasn’t managed to push the guy away yet, Noct’ll never know. He’s grateful, and most of the time he’s at a loss of how to properly convey it.

He settles for a soft “thank you” as he drinks his coffee at the dining table. He gets halfway through it before he decides he’s awake enough to change into his own joggers and a comfy sweatshirt. Gladio has him doing warm-up stretches for five minutes, then tells him to lie flat on his back so they can work his lower abs. He watches from the couch, reminds Noct to start slow, to breathe in and out as he draws one knee at a time to his chest.

“Remember, minimum of six times on each leg. If your back starts hurting more at any point, stop.”

“I know. We’ve been through this a million times.”

“Yeah, as a precautionary. Not because you messed up your back in a fight.”

Noctis takes in a deeper breath as he draws his other knee in. His back’s always been the biggest point of contention when it came to the cage fights. It was the first protest Gladio had when Noct first told him about it. He’d even threatened to stop training him with the punching bags. It was all within good reason. Noct knows the injury he’d sustained as a child is never a matter to be taken lightly.

For the record, he never takes it lightly. He’s lived with it most of his life. Contrary to a certain hero’s perception of him, Noctis does know his physical limits. He’s gone through many fights before this one without causing any harm to his back. He’s never gone into the ring without being mindful of it.

Last night was simply a misfortunate slip up. A one-time thing. A firm reminder to Noctis to be more vigilant next time.

“I’ll be okay, Gladio. I always am.”

“Remember what I told you before your first fight?”

_“You won’t be reckless. You’ll take this seriously and you’ll take care of your back. You’ll train for every fight. You’ll never accept a fight that’s more than you can handle. And so help me gods, if you so much as break a bone or collapse because of your back, you’re done.”_

Noctis isn’t sure how Gladio intends to keep him from fighting if either of those things happen. Maybe he’ll tell Noctis’ father or Cor but… he _is_ an adult that’s been away from home for some years now. No one can really make him stop if he doesn’t want to… but the last thing he wants to do is drive everyone mad with worry. He understands where Gladio’s coming from. He appreciates that the big guy looks out for him this much in the first place.

Noctis finally nods on a steady exhale as he lowers his leg away from his chest, resting his foot flat on the mat. “I didn’t collapse last night, though.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t. I was ready to march into that cage my damn self when I heard you scream.” He clenches a fist atop his knee and stares at a random point on the floor. Noctis looks his way and can’t tell if he’s angry, guilty, or both.

He never thought about that. About the fact that Gladio was there too, watching him writhe beneath his opponent and claw at the floor. Suddenly the thought of Gladio feeling guilty over that makes _him_ feel guilty. That… that was probably terrible to watch. Infuriating, even. Sure, Gladio witnessed time and time again what Noctis was capable of. Sure, he knows better than anyone that Noctis isn’t some fragile thing that can’t hold his own.

Gladio’s the one person who saw Noctis at his weakest. The one person who held out his hand and helped him rebuild himself.

But despite being there every step of his progress, he was still protective. Noct has himself to blame for that, doesn’t he? What, with all the stupid shit he’s done. Bad, impulsive decisions, his naivety and letting others walk all over him. Now the cage fights.

Noct’ll do better for the sake of his back _and_ for Gladio.

“Defend my honor and take on the big, bad hero?” Noct smiles, hoping to steer away from the sorer topic. “I’d love to see that match.”

Gladio takes the bait and looks at Noct with a curious, crooked grin. “Think I could take him?”

“If I can, you can.”

“Bet he won’t chat me up the way he did with you, though.”

Noct tries not to laugh and ruin his intake of breath as he pulls his other leg to his chest again. “Please. He was just trying to get under my skin. That’s what anyone even remotely bigger than me does.”

“I dunno. He seemed pretty… enticed by you.”

“ _Enticed_?” Noctis scoffs on an exhale.

“He unmistakably checked you out three different times when you were circling each other.”

Noctis laughs and shakes his head. “This isn’t the first time someone in the ring’s checked me out, y’know.”

“Oh, _I know_. I usually get bad vibes off those people, but I didn’t get that off him.”

That’s saying something given Gladio’s reads on people are rarely wrong. Noctis lowers his leg for the last time and sits up. “What did you get off him then?”

“Just that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

That’s vague, but Noctis decides not to question it further. What does it matter to him anyway? It’s not like he’ll see the guy again. A shame, really. Noctis might’ve fantasized about punching him in the face earlier… might’ve really, really hated his guts last night for pretending he knew him, for every “pretty” and “little” comment that spilled from his mouth. Looking back now… he kind of liked the back and forth shit-talk.

He liked proving the hero’s initial judgements of him wrong. He liked seeing that moment of awe washing over those rugged features.

Seriously, what was that guy doing in the ring when he could easily be a supermodel? Though, his face might not look as photogenic today after that fight…

Shame. It’s been a while since a fight was this satisfying and thrilling. He certainly hopes the next will live up to it.

“You do realize now that you’ve dethroned one of their top guys people are going to line up to take you on, right?” There’s more concern hiding behind the warning in Gladio’s words. He grabs the bag he gave Noctis earlier and pulls one of the boxes of heating pads out.

“I know.” Noctis watches him pick at the tape on the box.

“People that are bigger than the hero guy.”

Of course. Most of the crowd last night expected to watch Noctis get his ass handed to him. Other contenders would love to succeed where the infamous hero fell short. Would love to make Noct regret ever daring to ask for a challenge. As much as he loves the thrill of his own spite and adrenaline, pouring everything he’s got into proving people wrong, he has no intentions of agreeing to every fight.

“I know. I’ll be ready.”

“Noct.” He doesn’t need to ask the question aloud for Noct to hear it. He can see it clear in the solemn amber of his friend’s eyes.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Gladio holds his gaze for a moment longer before he seemingly accepts Noct’s sincerity with a nod. They move on into the next exercise from there, which only takes another minute or so. Strengthening the deeper abdominals, Gladio calls it. It puts Noct flat on his back again, knees bent and apart. Four times he takes in a deep breath and draws his navel in towards his spine. He holds the small contraction until Gladio’s done counting him down from ten, then relazes as he breathes out.

It’s reminiscent of a few exercises he used to do in physical therapy. Something about strengthening his deeper muscles to provide more support to his back. It doesn’t cure the pain, but he finds his back feels less sore. Noct’s rewarded with one of the heating pads by the end of it.

Now _this_ – this dulls the brunt of his pain. Noct melts into the soothing warmth of it, releasing a content little sigh as he settles into a chair at the dining table.

“You call out of work like I so wisely suggested?” Gladio asks, approaching him with a water bottle.

“Yeah, Mom. I called last night after you left.” He yelps when there’s a hand on his head mussing up his air and playfully shoving him forward. “Hey, quit it!”

Gladio relents with an amused grin, setting the bottle down and sitting in the chair next to him. “Save the Mom comments for Iggy.”

Noctis blinks at the name, flinches almost as if he’s been struck by Ramuh himself. For a moment, he was ready to agree with that. Ready to pretend that it was something he could follow through on. As if sometime soon Ignis would come through the door and do something to constitute such a comment.

As if Noctis was lucky enough to have salvaged what was left of their friendship, relieving Gladio of maintaining separate ones between them. Noctis hopes he looks down into his lap fast enough to hide the wistful flicker in his eyes.

“Sorry.” Gladio rubs he back of his neck. “I… talked to him recently.”

They talk often. Noctis knows they do. It doesn’t bother him. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. Sounds like Tenebrae’s serving his culinary fantasies well.”

“That’s good.”

“He mentioned plans to come down and visit in a few months. Asked about you too.”

“Oh…” He’s not sure what else to say, or where to even look. He settles for reading the nutrition facts on his water bottle.

“I didn’t tell him about the fights, obviously. Can’t imagine he’d be happy finding out about them.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like he’d be obligated to care.”

“Noct…” he can’t bear the sympathy in Gladio’s force. Nor the pitiful look he can feel burning a hole through him. He’s still on the fence about whether he deserves it or not. “This isn’t the first time Iggy’s asked about you. Especially since… you know.”

Oh, Noctis knows. He knows all too well. The one thing that drove the wedge between him and Ignis in the first place has been absent from Noct’s life for some time now. He just hasn’t found himself brave enough to reach out and mend the bridge he was responsible for allowing to break.

“Iggy’s never held anything against you for what happened, Noct. Not ever.”

“I’ve got a list of reasons why he should hold everything against me, but you already know them.”

“I want you to consider meeting up with him when he comes down. Clear the air between you two once and for all.”

Noctis says nothing. He rests his chin in his palm and looks off into the kitchen. This time it’s Gladio’s frustration burning a hole in him. He hears him taking a deep breath to keep himself calm.

“Noct, what have these past months been about? What did I tell you I was going to help you do?”

Be better. Stronger. Heal. Noctis wants to shudder just thinking back to the moment – holding in everything, being so used to dismissing his own feelings, of assuming everything that went wrong was his own fault. All until the moment Gladio found him a broken mess and told him _“You’re better than this. You can do better and I’m going to help you if you’ll let me. You_ deserve _better.”_

At that time, Noctis didn’t agree, but that’s another thing the past months have been about. Recognizing that past choices don’t define who he can grow to be. Learning to forgive and love himself more. He’s in a much better place than he was months ago, but there’s still moments where his doubts falter him.

“Noct.”

“What?” it comes out harsher than he means for it to, but Gladio doesn’t appear to be angry or disappointed in him.

“Doing this would be good for you,” he says calm, but firm. “I know you know that. At least think about it.”

Noct fiddles his thumbs into his sleeves, attention skittering back down to his water bottle. He _does_ have a few months to think on it, and maybe in a few months he’ll be even more pleased with his self-improvement. Reaching back out to the ones he pushed away has always been part of that plan anyway…

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“ _Fine_ , I’ll think about it. I promise.”

Gladio nods at him, a smile touching his lips. “Good. How’s your back?”

“Better. The pads really help. Thanks for them.”

“No problem. Since I let you skip out on running this morning, you up to go for a walk? I could go for a breakfast burrito.”

Noct makes an almost sinful noise and slouches his cheek against his palm. “Gods, that sounds amazing right now.” He stands up from his chair, quickly pocketing his phone. “Let me get my shoes.”

His phone’s going off as soon as he turns around. He pulls his phone back out from his pocket to see a text waiting for him. He’s halfway back to his room, nearly disappearing into the hall before he pauses in his steps to read the message properly.

“ _No way_.” He almost laughs, eyes roaming over the message again to make sure he didn’t read it wrong.

“What?”

Noct backtracks towards Gladio, a delighted grin on his face as he confirms he read everything correctly. “Got a text from the head guy down at the cages. Guess who wants a rematch?”

“No way.”

This is  _ perfect _ . Just when he was ready to accept the slim chances of seeing the hero again. This is his chance to prove himself all over again and erase that moment of weakness for good. That must be why the hero wants to fight again. Now that he knows Noct’s weakness, he wants to use it against him. Put Noct in his place and get him back for making him look like a fool.

Noct can make an even bigger fool of him this time. Make sure it sticks in that big dumb hero brain that he  _ really  _ doesn’t know what he’s capable of.

“Looks like the big, tough hero can’t stand being dethroned by a pretty little prince.”

Thrones are meant for princes anyway, right?

“Please tell me you’re not seriously thinking of agreeing to this.”

The reality hits him once he realizes how concerned Gladio sounds. Right, his back. Being mindful and all that.

“I just need a couple days to bounce back from this.”

“Noct.”

“I can do this! I’ve lived with this injury for half my life and I know it better than anyone. You know what these fights mean to me. The last thing I want to do is mess myself up more because of one.”

Gladio crosses his arms and stares at him. Noct can see that inner conflict going on his head. He knows Gladio questions all the time whether or not letting him indulge in these fights is wrong on his part. If he should put more effort into getting him to quit.

Noctis also knows that Gladio trusts his judgement despite his murky past. When he says he’ll be careful, he means it.

“A couple days,” Gladio repeats, pointing at him. “You take it easy and double the stretches. _I mean it_.”

“ _I know_. I will.”

Gladio sighs and shakes his head. “Wish I could get you this confident about talking to Iggy. Why are you so eager to fight this guy again anyway?”

Noct shrugs. “I might’ve kicked his ass, but he’s still a good fighter. I like giving him a run for his money.”

“You sure it’s not all the flirty shit-talk you like?”

 “Shut up.”

Gladio laughs to himself. “So you going to message the guy back, or what?”

“Think I’ll wait till I’m positive my back’s better. Let the hero sit in suspense for a few days.”

“Why’s that?”

“He called me pretty. Twice.”

That’s all the explanation Gladio needs to wince and wrinkle his nose in legitimate concern for the hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said I was going to try to be better at updating? I'm trying, I swear ^^; but I think a few weeks in between chapters is as good as I'm going to get. I'm still going to try my best though! 
> 
> My gut also told me I couldn't _not_ write Noct in this chapter, but I can now say with certainty that the rematch WILL be next. Happy monday, friends~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rematch rolls around and Nyx has a lot on his mind. Mostly The Prince, but he's not going to say that out loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone forgot, the last chapter had a small chunk of dialogue/prose missing. Nothing too major, but finally fixed if you're interested in seeing :)

The rhythmic thud of his heart ringing in his ears makes Nyx’s escort to the cage much more apprehensive. Everything around him seems to move slower. There’s less praise for him tonight. Between the myriad of voices, the whistling and the fist pumping, the bellows that stand out the most to Nyx tonight are more along the disapproving lines of:

“Don’t wuss out this time!”

“Put up or shut up!”

“Last chance, Hero!”

But one voice in the back of his mind stands out among them all.

_“There will always be someone with something nasty to say, Nyx. Don’t lash out at words. Be better than the ones those people use to describe you.”_

That dose of his mother’s wisdom resulted from one of his troublesome teenage brawls, of course. It might’ve taken a school suspension for him to effectively put it into practice, but he still got there. It does wonder for him now. Remaining indifferent to the fuss of jeers that fill the underground arena is anything but difficult. They boggle Nyx more than they bother him, but he stopped trying to understand the perspective of spectators long ago. It serves as nothing but a distraction, and tonight is not a night where he needs a distraction.

Hilarious, considering who he’s about to face again.

His mother called him earlier and asked what his plans were for tonight. The lie of a few beers with his friends rolled too easily off his tongue. It left a sour taste in his mouth as it always does. Haunts every step he takes to the cage.

He’s the one being escorted to The Prince this time. Typical protocol for rematches. Champion awaiting the defeated, basking in the esteem of their supporters while the other makes their trek to a shot at redemption.

This isn’t Nyx’s first rematch. It’s his first time being the one to request it and his first time being escorted as the defeated. He’s had his losses in the past, but an opponent’s never lingered on his brain long enough to care. A loss has never bothered him to the point where he couldn’t suck it up and move on.

Nyx already sees The Prince as he makes his way towards the cage door. He wonders if he’ll be cocky tonight, or fired up with a whole new attitude that he’ll love to hate. It took a few days for Nyx to even hear that he agreed to the rematch. Part of him wondered if that was intentional or not.

Not that his heart skipped a beat every time his phone buzzed in his pocket at work. Not disappointing at all every time Nyx checked his phone to discover that, no, he didn’t get a response about the stupid Prince yet. Nope.

If there was anything to be disappointed about, it was the decreasing chances of winning his money back for his family. Right?

 _No distractions_ , Nyx reminds himself. _No distractions_.

Someone’s next to The Prince inside the cage. He’s bigger. Much bigger and towering over him, arms crossed and face grim, almost teetering along the lines of admonishment. Nyx’s brows rise in interest. The Prince’s face is shadowed by his hood like before, but he nods and raises a hand to placate his friend.

The big guy is the perfect candidate for one of Nyx’s typical opponents. Someone he would’ve expected to walk into the cage almost a week ago rather than The Prince. He might be the equivalent of Libertus. A friend sticking by him through rash, stupid decisions, ready to catch him should he fall tonight.

Maybe the two of them have more in common than Nyx realizes.

“Hey.” Crowe’s surprisingly soft voice startles him. He’s got two friends standing by him tonight. The unease on Crowe’s face the second she was exposed to the rabid enthusiasm of the crowd couldn’t be more telling it’s her first time here. Nyx is grateful to have her here even if he’s aware she doesn’t approve of this. Even as she hardly looks at him and digs her hands into his pockets, he knows what she’s going to say. “Worst case scenario… let it go this time, will ya?”

“I’ll be careful.” At least, that’s the most honest answer he can give her. He shrugs off his purple hoodie to hand to Libertus. The referee's voice begins booming above them, bringing Nyx’s attention to the cage door. A man unlocks and pulls it open, waiting patiently for him. “Go time.”

He takes a deep breath and heads for the open door.

“It’s one of our biggest rematches to date, folks! Tonight I present to you our newest champion. The spitfire himself. His highness, The Prince!”

Nyx moves up the small set of steps leading to the cage’s platform, looking to see The Prince’s reaction to the crowd erupting around them. His view is obscured by the bulk of another. Nyx pauses in stride, meeting amber eyes as fiery as The Prince’s attitude. The big guy. A warning flashes in the brief narrowing of his brows and tightening of his jaw. It distrantly reminds Nyx of the look he gave the older kids that picked on Selena in grade school. Valiantly protective even when she’s always been capable of standing up for herself.

The Prince might be able to hold his own down here, but he’s still got people in his corner. That much Nyx can gather from the big guy’s glare, but it doesn’t worry him. He matches it boldly, unwavering when they brush past each other and bump shoulders.

_No distractions. No distractions._

Ahead, The Prince awaits him in the center, coat removed, attention roaming the crowd as they praise and ridicule him. His face is detached to it all as ever, but the way his hands flex and clench at his sides speaks otherwise.

“Take me on, sweet thing!” Someone from the floor seating shouts. “Won’t be so pretty once I’m through with you!”

The corner of The Prince’s lips twitch at that. Nyx sees the tension bunching in his shoulders as he turns his head to face the obnoxious spectator. He holds himself back from reacting on impulse. Settles for the challenging sneer that screams _I dare you_ even from where Nyx is standing. He purses his lips and blows a kiss at the man with a wink.

Yup, still fearless. Still hates being called pretty.

_Still is pretty._

Nope. Nyx stops there.

 _No distractions. No distractions._ He takes another deep breath.

“Here to take back his long held title and show this newcomer who really runs the ring,” the ref gestures across the way to Nyx, “I present to you our favorite Hero.”

The reaction seems to be a bit more positive towards him this time, but he can still hear people yelling at him to get his shit together. Nyx just straightens his spine and notes The Prince’s attention fixing on him as he approaches the center of the ring.

“Gentlemen,” the ref says, standing between them. “This is a rematch. As a reminder, rematches consist of two to three rounds. Each round isn’t over till somebody taps out. The best two out of three will determine the rightful winner. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” says The Prince who refuses to break the sudden staring contest they’ve engaged in. Nyx confirms his own understanding with a firm nod.

“Make it a good one fellas. May the best fighter win.”

The man slips away just as the blare of a horn signals the start of the rematch. Oddly, Nyx finds his brain scrambling for something to say. Is there anything to even say? Hi? How’s it going? How’s your back? Fuck you? Gods, no one’s messed with his head like this before. Nyx wants to punch himself right now instead. Another deep breath. _No distractions_.

The Prince falls into his defensive stance, and without a thought, Nyx presses a fist to his chest to offer him a mock bow. A soft “Your highness,” slips from his lips. A few laughs and encouraging whistles sounds from the crowd. Nyx straightens in time to catch the annoyed eye roll from his royal opponent.

“You’re an idiot.” A familiar sapphire glare pierces Nyx, sparking a hankering surge of adrenaline in him, lighting the cage brighter than the gloom of the flickering lights they stands under.

His mother’s voice warns him not to lash out again. He knows that means verbally in this case, because Nyx is a pro at further instigating sarcastic jab fests. It’s so hard _not to_ with him, though.

“You’re still small and full of spite I see.” Nyx smirks.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” He smirks right back. Nyx ignored the fascinated little flutter in his chest. “Really couldn’t stand that I swooped in and stole your title like it was nothing. You hardly waited a day before you asked for a rematch.”

“Don’t know about you, little prince,” Nyx raises his fists and circles around him, “but I’m in this for the money. That’s all this is about.”

“Wow, you’re an idiot _and_ full of shit. Wonders never cease.”

“Shiva,” Nyx laughs. “You’re even mouthier than before. I think I like that.”

“Think it’ll get you to put up a decent fight this time?” That taunting tilt of his head, the cock of his eyebrows… Nyx would be lying if he said he didn’t miss this.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

And with that, Nyx launches himself forward and prepares a fist. The Prince braces for defense, which is exactly what Nyx wants. He ducks past him at the last second. Whips around and kicks above the small of his back. The Prince staggers forward but catches himself before he falls to his knees, a gasp leaving him.

He’s reaching behind himself to knead the area, pausing to confirm that his initial shock hasn’t delayed any crippling pain. Nyx _could_ take this opening to strike at him again. He could. He waits and watches intrigued instead. Worth it to catch The Prince huffing out a breath, rising slowly and turning to fix him with that killer glare.

“Your move, little prince.”

“Don’t call me _little prince_.”

The fists come at Nyx in a flurry. He blocks the first hurling towards his face with his forearm, skips back to evade the second aiming for his gut. They clash knees, Nyx raising his to stop a high roundhouse kick short. The Prince grunts in frustration and charges at him, locks arms around his waist and shoves him back into the wire.

Nyx has no chance to regain his focus before a fist promptly connects beneath his chin, sending his head snapping right back against the wire. His teeth clash together and split the skin inside his mouth. He sucks in a breath, wedges a knee between them, and kicks The Prince halfway across the ring. So hard he ends up on his back. Half the crowd stands from their seats to pump a fist in the air.

“Come on,” Nyx approaches in full confidence, “You don't think I put up that bad of a fight last time, do you?”

“Everyone else does.” The Prince winces when he maneuvers onto his side. “They like to chop it up to you having a bad night and me getting lucky. If someone like you loses to someone like me, it must be luck, right? Not because I’m actually good at fighting.”

There’s a bite in The Prince’s tone, bitter as the rampant winds of a winter blizzard. His face falters from venomous resentment into wearied hysteria. It’s the briefest flicker of someone nearly slipping from the ends of a tattered rope. A young man setting the highest expectations of no one other than himself, eager to be better than the nasty words and baseless presumptions of those around him.

The questions circle in Nyx’s mind again like that first night. He shouldn’t be probing his own curiosities further. Not now, of all times. _No distractions, no distractions_. Now’s the perfect time to strike again.

Alas.

“That’s what you’re in this for,” he says. “You like proving people wrong and making them sorry they ever doubted you.”

The Prince visibly flinches. Nyx senses the fear in him for once. It’s as if no one’s ever thrown that in face before. Though, perhaps everyone else’s always been too busy fussing on about how “pretty” he is or betting that he “doesn’t stand a chance” against anyone bigger than him. They all focus on the surface. Get a kick out of the attitude and defiance, but no one bothers to look beyond it. That’s clear to Nyx this very moment.

It’s clearer in the way The Prince presses his lips together firmly and retreats behind the icy visage of a tempermental stare. “The hell is it to you?”

That’s not a no. Nyx is a bit disappointed it isn’t. Something tells him The Prince has been scorned one too many times. Maybe by people he cared for and trusted. That anger has to originate somewhere, didn’t it?

_No distractions. No distractions._

But Nyx can’t help but sympathize for a minute like he did that first night.

It costs him. The Prince slides himself across the floor to kick Nyx in the shins. He staggers with a cry.

“ _Come on_!” He hears one spectator cry. “Pull your head out of your ass!”

Right. Distractions. Moment of sympathy officially over

Nyx dives out of the way of the next blow, rises and nails The Prince with a mean right hook. Then a left. The Prince catches the next one in his palm. Nyx is tugged forward, kneed sharply in the gut, and gets a prompt uppercut. Weight crashes into him, but his vision is nowhere near clear enough to stop himself from collapsing to the floor.

Then The Prince is on top of him.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Highness.”

“Shut. Up.” Gloved hands grab Nyx’s wrists and pin them to the floor, squeezing hard enough to make him bite the inside of his cheek and squirm.

But Nyx manages to shimmy a leg out from beneath The Prince, hooking it around his waist and across his back. He rolls on his side to kick him away, leaving them to clamber back to their feet.

The minutes pass on, and every block, counter and swift dodge has Nyx’s frustration increasing by each one. The crowd grows just as restless, standing from their seats in sheer anticipation every time one pins or corners the other.

Then The Prince kicks Nyx back down to his knees. He feels weight on his back, an arm securing around his throat, and a palm at the back of his head. Pressure. Nyx gasps to suck in air, tucking his chin down and frantically thrusting an elbow into The Prince’s abdomen. Once, twice, a third. The spitfire bites back his cries, jolts a bit with each hit, but doesn’t let up.

So Nyx jerks to the left and right in a fight for air. He rocks forward to try to haul his opponent over his shoulders, but he’s pulled back upright with a determined growl. When the color in his vision begins to bleed away, he knows it’s over. He has seconds, maybe, before he blacks out. He supposes it’s better to swallow his pride than to pass out in front of the crowd. With the frenzied shreds of consciousness he has left, he taps at The Prince’s shoulders several times.

He’s released immediately; lurching forward, coughing and heaving as the horn sounding above them signifies the end of the round. The crowd equally cheers and groans. The ref steps back inside to approach The Prince and raise his arm in victory. Nyx balls both his hands into fists. While he’s bent over and catching his breath, he closes his eyes. Drowns out the belittling comments that are shouted at him. Thinks of his mother telling him to be better.

She wouldn’t say that to him in this context of all things, but it still motivates him to brush it off and try again.

“Ulric.” A hand claps down on his shoulder. He senses the ref kneeling to his level. “Ulric, you need a minute?”

People usually take five or so in between rounds to gather themselves or take stock of what injuries they’ve sustained so far. It’d be wise for him to do that, but right now there’s something bubbling beneath his skin. Something prideful and primal telling him that the only thing he needs to do right now is fight. One more deep breath. He shakes his head and opens his eyes, refusing the hand the ref holds out to help him stand.

“Round two it is.” The man stands with him and waves a hand that sounds the horn again.

Across from him, The Prince stands without a smirk or smile in sight. He’s cold and stone-faced, fists alreadying coming at the ready, the faintest wrinkle between his brows. There’s no way he isn’t hurting after the way Nyx repeatedly elbowed him in the ribs. He can stand there and glare all he wants, but Nyx knows the little spitfire isn’t invincible.

“One out of three, Hero.” For every step The Prince takes toward him, Nyx takes a step back. “This could be your last chance.”

“You trying to get in my head, little prince?”

His jaw tightens, no doubt at the nickname, but he laughs at the question. “I think I already am. I think I have been since the first fight. From what I hear, you don’t ask for rematches.”

“Couldn’t afford not to this time.” Nyx gives him a wry smile. “I lost a lot of money on you.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice in spotting liars, Hero. I don’t know why you’re lying, but you are.”

Nyx’s heart spikes in his chest. He can’t be _that_ obvious, can he? He scoffs to cover up any indication that The Prince’s observations are correct.

“Alright spitfire, you caught me. If you really want to know, the only reason I asked for a rematch was so I could see that pretty face of yours one last time.” He dares to mimic him from earlier, winking and blowing a kiss his way.

It’s a bold move. For once it isn’t because of Nyx’s mouth working faster than his head. If he can just get him fired up and avoid all his attacks, he can wear him out and take him down. Still, Nyx isn’t sure if he regrets making the comment or not as he watches the tension bundle back into The Prince’s shoulders. The realization seeps into those soft features. The resentment starts to simmer in the depths of his eyes.

Not one word or comeback is uttered. The Prince only shakes in visible anger. It’s a lapse of silence before he charges at him.

And Nyx dodges, dives and rolls away from each furious attack. He bides his time and observes for his openings, sneaks in a good punch when he finds them. Something churns in his stomach when The Prince recovers from one with a bloody lip to show for it. Similar to the first fight again.

 _No distractions. No sympathy._ But deep down Nyx isn’t proud to resorting to the tactic of using the word “pretty” against him like everyone else. Isn’t proud of waiting for the prime opportunity to take advantage of that weak spot in his back. There aren’t many rules in the cages to begin with, and that’s never bothered Nyx before, but…

No wonder he’s obvious.

As the second round becomes an endless chase, Nyx sees the tell-tale signs of The Prince relying more on his anger than his instincts. It happens quicker than he expects - sloppy footwork and strategies that aren’t well thought out. Quite the contrast to last time where the word pretty drove him to push through to victory instead. Not that Nyx should be complaining about that.

He takes a punch and gets an elbow to the back. It causes him to collapse to his knees, but he has the sense to roll off to the side. Sure enough, The Prince’s foot misses his gut by inches. Nyx takes his chance to trap The Prince’s other ankle between his own and sweep his feet right from under him. He falls on his back with a sharp gasp and scrambles to sit up. Nyx kicks him back down and crawls over him.

How they keep ending up on top of each other like this - well, he tries not to think about that. Refusing to let The Prince wrestle his way back on top, he applies extra pressure to his ribs with a forearms. That stills him immediately and causes his face to screw up in pain. Nyx can tell he’s biting back a whine, so he presses a little harder.

He only lets up when he hears a faint whimper.

“Looks like it isn’t my last chance after all, huh?” He cocks a brow.

“I could still…” he grunts and tries to move his legs, but Nyx keeps them trapped with the weight of his own, “turn this around…”

“I could turn you around. See how that tender spot in your back’s doing from last time.”

“This where you act all high and mighty and tell me to tap out for my own good?”

“It’s either that or this.” Nyx applies the pressure again. He ignores the sour churn in his stomach when The Prince groans and writhes beneath him. “C’mon, little prince. This round is mine.”

It takes the mutinous shake of the head. An irritable roar and the desperate twist of wrists. The clawing of fingers and flailing of elbows. A good minute of struggling, of flushing in abhorrence at every chant from the crowd that urges The Prince to tap out. It’s a war with inner pride. A desire to be seen as anything but weak. It begins to peek through the cracks in his iron armor. Nyx adds pressure again to break it completely.

The Prince arches and wails. He wrenches a hand free and taps the floor three consecutive times.

The crowd collectively jumps back to their feet. Gasps of shock fill the arena, cheers soon following in tandem. Nyx blinks. People are cheering for him rather than berating him. A foot rests against his gut and shoves him away. He stumbles but stands, realizing that The Prince is inching away from him. It doesn’t sink in till the ref’s approaching him and taking his arm to raise it in victory.

He still has a chance to take it all back. Nyx straightens his shoulders as he looks out to the crowd, feeling the confidence starting to pile back in to him.

He shouldn’t feel as bad as he does watching The Prince curl in on himself, moving onto his side, wrapping an arm protectively around his ribs while he cringes and pants. Nyx didn’t break his ribs. He made sure of that, but there’s no way there isn’t a nasty bruise beginning to bloom beneath that shirt. Though The Prince still manages to rise to his feet with all the looming severity of a pending storm. Dark bangs cling to the sweat beading on his forehead. Rosy cheeks puff as he huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders.

If that’s not the most beautiful storm Nyx has ever seen…

 _No. Distractions_.

Distracted or not, nothing could prepare Nyx for that storm to suddenly rush at him. The referee’s barely let go of his arm. Hasn’t even asked them if they’d like a minute to gather themselves. The horn that would signify the beginning of the next round hasn’t sounded either. It doesn’t keep The Prince from ramming all of his weight into Nyx.

They meet the floor with mutual grunts and gasps. Nyx swears he hears the ref curse and run off, but the crowd drowns it out. He hears a mix of hurrahs and protests. Not that anyone’s protest of his highness jumping the gun would make a difference. Even when the horn belatedly sounds as the two roll back and forth over each other, Nyx knows it won’t matter.

The place still runs on little rules and regulations. The only real purpose of having a referee in the first place is to start rounds and announce winners. The people who run this place could care less about someone getting too eager. They’re probably eating it all up instead.

Meanwhile, Nyx fights with all his strength for dominance with The Prince. Just when he thinks he has it, The Prince pushes back, and Nyx feels his back pressing in the wire. A right and left hook cause the bitter, metallic taste of blood to touch his tongue. He spits some of it out and shakes his head, grabbing The Prince’s forearms before he can punch him again. With a low grunt, he tosses him off to the side like he weighs nothing.

Nyx’s adrenaline is at its peak. The tingle of it beneath his skin makes him feel light as a feather as he stands. It emanates from The Prince as well. Feeds into his own and sends a chill surging through him rnyitr;u.

The third round becomes a storm in it’s own right. Or rather, the collision of two separate ones. Raw and chaotic with nothing left to lose. Filled with grueling cries, sweat rolling down their necks and seeping into their shirts, an insufferable heat between them whenever they get up close and personal with one another.

They reach a lapse where neither lands a single hit for nearly an entire minute. The Prince tapping back into his agility with spinning kicks, defensive backflips and borderline acrobatic evades. Nyx might not be as graceful, but he can still be agile, whirling, skipping, ducking and shuffling from harm’s way.

He catches The Prince’s next fist in his palm, twists his arm behind his back and drives him back up to the wire.

“You know,” Nyx says between his heavy breaths, pressing his full weight against The Prince’s back, “I’m kind of going to miss this once it’s over.”

“You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you think this is anywhere close to over.” The Prince growls, pushing back against Nyx, gasping when he feels a palm settle against that spot in his lower back.

“Oh, I think we’re as good as close to over.” Nyx presses his palm a little more insistently, causing The Prince to muffle a groan into his own shoulder, sag between the wire and his opponent. “Unless you’re interested in another rematch.”

He shakes his head. “I know how to accept my losses and be done with them. I’ve got nothing to prove to you anymore.”

“Anymore, huh?” Nyx curls the crook of his arm around The Prince’s throat. He binds him close as asks right against his ear. “Why’d you agree to this in the first place then?”

He chuckles despite his struggle in the tight hold. “If you really want to know…” he mimics Nyx’s tone from the second round, teasing and spiteful. “I only agreed so I could punch your stupid face one last time.”

Nyx chuckles with him and tightens his hold. “It’s been a pleasure, spitfire.”

“Not…” He vies for the remnants of his strength to claw at Nyx’s arm, but they’re both down to their last legs. Worn out from the mutual ferocity since the first horn sounded. “Over…” The Prince twists in his arms. Left, right, forwards and backwards. “ _Yet_.” He tucks his chin in. Nyx feels lips brushing against his arm.

The last thing he expects to feel is teeth biting his skin.

Strings of pained curses spill from Nyx’s lips. He withdraws like he’s been shocked, cradling his arm in his palm to survey the damage. He stares at the red, wet mark with wide eyes, short astonished huffs of breath escaping him.

“What the _fuck_?!”

Similar shouts sprout around him, disbelieving laughs and gasps. Nyx barely gets a chance to look up before there’s another fist in his face. He stumbles backwards, but an arm locks around his neck to steady him. In another beat he’s dragged down to the floor, the arm suddenly tightening around his throat. Nyx gasps and writhes in The Prince’s arms.

“It’s been a pleasure, Hero.”

Nyx shakes his head, a desperate, persevering growl creeping from the back of his throat. He musters up enough strength to sit up and resist the arm that tries to drag him back down. He reaches behind him, grabbing for a shirt, skin, ribs, anything he can use to stagger The Prince. He settles for elbowing him again, getting a yowling curse from him. Nyx isn’t released completely, but the grip is lightened just enough for him to find it in himself to lean forward and slowly push himself to his feet.

He means to toss The Prince right over his shoulders, pin him down and presa a knee to his back until he taps out. But as he stands, the spitfire locks his legs across Nyx’s waist. The pressure around his neck trengthens. The wire - If Nyx can make his way to the wire to slam them both against it.

His vision blurs on the first step forward he takes. The wild cacophony of the crowd is nothing but distant static to his ears. His will begs to _hang on_ a little longer, but he wavers on his next step and collapses to his knees.

 _Not again_ and certainly not like this. If he can just - _If he can just_ -

Black begins to tinge the corners of his vision. The point of no return. Nyx swallows his pride once more, leans forward, and taps the floor three times.

The deafening commotion crashes around him the second The Prince lets him go. Nyx crumples forward like some worn and forgotten ragdoll, sucking in huge gups of breath. Coughing and bracing one hand against the floor as he rests his forehead against it.

He lost. He lost and he’s not sure how he feels about it. He can hardly form a coherent thought or properly process whatever the ref is spewing into his microphone overhead. Something about the rightful winner. Something about someone truly proving themselves.

Nyx lifts his head when enough oxygen’s restored itself to his brain. He looks over his shoulder to see the exact image he saw that first night. The Prince’s arm raised in triumph, slowly rotating around to face the crowd with grace. Not a trace of animosity, nor a hint of boasting. Only a modest sense of accomplishment in the straightening of his shoulders and the slightest raise of his chin.

Nyx catches an obscure twinge in The Prince’s eyes when they meet with his. It comes off as sympathy, or perhaps pity, though he can’t be sure. Those are the last things Nyx wants from him anyway.

So he ducks his head back down instead to pretend he’s still catching his breath. Though he can still feel those eyes burning something into his hunched, defeated form.

\--

Nyx decides to find him once the crowd has settled and somewhat cleared out. Once Libertus and Crowe have done their fussing over him, examined the prominent teeth marks on his skin and prodded at his back, shoulders and ribs to test his pain. They questioned him when he stalked away from them like a man on a mission, yelled at him to not do something stupid. Probably thinking he was off to ask for another rematch.

“Give me five minutes,” is all he gives them. Barely with a glance back over his shoulder.

It’s a good thing he didn’t promise Crowe he’d let this go.

But Nyx has decided he isn’t upset about losing again. Not in the way one would think. Sure, he didn’t take back the title he’d been holding onto for months now. Sure, he didn’t show that little shit who really runs the ring. Sure, he should be mad about losing out on money for his family twice in a row, but none of it is a concern to him at the moment.

 _So I could see that pretty face of yours one last time_. Nyx almost scoffs. He’s not sure if The Prince actually believed that, or if he was just that repulsed by being called pretty. That’s the only reason Nyx made the comment. To get a rise out of him. Or so he thought, but now he’s here with a pounding heart and a strong sense of unfinished business casting over him like a dark cloud.

He needs to actually talk to The Prince. Without all the shit-talk, the bravado, the fronts of Hero and Prince themselves. Gods, he doesn’t even know The Prince’s name, does he?! He must have a name. There’s something more under all that armor. Nyx can _sense it_ and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t let his curiosity get the better of him this time.

Thus, he finds himself stepping quietly into one of the stuffy locker rooms, where The Prince has his bare back to him, is gloveless and in a fresh pair of sweats. Nyx swallows, prepared to immediately duck out and wait another minute or so, but then he notices something. Something that stops him in his tracks.

A scar. A long, jagged scar slashing across his back. Starting from his shoulder, curving down well past the hem of his pants, it seems. White ghosting at the edges, giving Nyx the chills as he ponders what in the hell could have possibly happened to leave a mark _like that_.

But Nyx gets it now. The scar may have a fade to it, one that indicates it being many years old, but the severity of it was enough to leave a lasting impact on The Prince. One that may be easily irritated in a cage fight. Nyx grimaces to himself. What the hell was this kid thinking?

He forces himself to shove the thought away for now as The Prince grabs a new T-shirt from the open duffle on the bench. Black, just like his sweats. A good color on him, Nyx has noticed. In fascination, he watches lean muscles work and move as The Prince pulls the garment over his head, carefully adjusting the hem at the bottom.

 _No distractions_ pops into his head again and Nyx practically startles himself with it. Right. He hopes the big guy from earlier doesn’t magically appear and catch him ogling

He steps further inside, quietly, trying to decide what exactly he should say.

“Hey.” Seems to be the safest option.

But The Prince suddenly tenses up like he feels unsafe. He whirls around, lips pursing in surprise. Once he sees Nyx, his eyebrows crease, an annoyed little wrinkle forming between them.

“If this is about another rematch, I swear - ”

“No!” Nyx raises both hands. “No, no, I… I come in peace?” He clears his throat and lowers his hands. “No. Guess I’m learning to accept my losses and be done with them.”

The Prince eyes him with skepticism, paying particular attention to his face. Either to look at his bruises jaw or search for any signs of dishonesty.

“What do you want, then?”

“I wanted to congratulate you.”

“What?” The Prince’s brow’s rise now, lips quirking at the corners, begging to curve into a smile that matches the disbelief of his snort.

“Congratulations,” Nyx repeats firmer this time. “I know I talked a lot of shit, but… you’re one hell of a fighter. I mean it.” The Prince licks the dried up, blood cut on his lower lip, eyes faltering to his feet. For some reason, Nyx panics. “Not that you need my approval! Or… anyone’s. You’re obviously sure of yourself. Don’t cater to anyone’s expectations.”

“Thanks…” He’s cautious, beginning to glance back towards his duffle bag, slowly starting to turn.

“And I’m sorry.” That gets The Prince’s attention back just like Nyx wants. One brow raised this time. Nyx sticks his hands into the pockets of his purple hoodie and bites shy of his own busted lip. “For messing with your back and calling you pretty on purpose.”

“Can’t say anyone’s ever come back to apologize for calling me names in the heat of a fight.” He’s still guarded, but his face is softening up to a degree Nyx has never seen before. Like the settling of the storm unleashed inside the cage. Beautiful in rage as he in the silent aftermath.

“You don’t have to accept it. Just felt like the right thing to do.”

“You apologize to everyone you fight, Hero?”

“No. You’d be the first.”

“Why?”

Nyx shrugs. “A lot of people had a lot of nasty things to say about you, but none of it slowed you down. All you did is be better than the words they used to describe you. Proved me wrong and put me in my place twice.” He smiles. Not mocking or goading like before, but genuine and amicable as he can make it. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever fought before, spitfire.”

Nyx can see by the dumbfounded, stilling stare from The Prince that no one’s ever said anything like this to him before. Certainly not in cages as tough as these whether he proved himself or not. Nyx thought he deserved to hear it at least once.

“You’re not lying.” The Prince blinks at him.

“No.” Nyx chuckles. He doesn’t expect him to warm up to him immediately. Not after a fight like that. The Prince _bit him_ , shiva’s sake. “I’m not.”

"Just when I thought I had you figured out, Hero.”

“Wonders never cease, remember?”

“Right. Well…” The Prince rubs the back of his neck and glances down. “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself. Sorry for, um, biting you.”

Nyx bares his forearm where the marks are still present, shrugging and smirking in amusement. “Like I said, unlike anyone I’ve ever fought before.” The Prince’s lips quirks again. Not quite into a smile, but into something warm enough to encourage Nyx to say, “I never got your name, by the way. Shame for me not to know how to address royalty properly, don’t you think?”

The Prince hesitates. He seems to almost shift in place and fight the urge to fidget with the ends of his shirt. Nyx takes no offense to it, but a small part of him hopes and hopes.

“Noctis.”

“Prince Noctis.” _Nice name_ , Nyx thinks, smiling again and nodding at it. “Got it. My name’s Nyx. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll see you around some time, Noctis.”

“Maybe,” Noctis says softly, still carrying hints of awe in the deep blue of his eyes. Nyx takes that as his cue to give him a final nod and leave.

He takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders, feeling much better than he did at the end of that fight. Nyx means to reverse the complete ass of himself he made inside the cage now that the actual fighting is over. He’s better than this. He’s always been. He hopes Noctis will see that. It’s not about the title of reigning champion. Not about his pride or money or, hell, even his family. There’s no reason to deny that anymore.

He still has questions, after all. So many questions. Perhaps if he plays his cards right, he’ll be worthy enough to find the answers. He just needs to use his brain rather than his fists.

And if he has anything to say or do about it, Nyx will definitely see Noctis around some time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could say a lot about my mixed feelings on this chapter, but I won't. Let's just say I had my own little fight with this one for months and I'm relieved I'm finally done with it. No more fight scenes after this, friends :')
> 
> If you liked even the smallest thing about this chapter, I'd love to hear it <3  
> Or consider giving it a reblog over on [tumblr](http://glaivenoct.tumblr.com/post/184251292689/lover-fighter-ch-4-words-6-634-summary-the) to spread it around :)


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